I Remember Four Rabbis

When I was a boy, I attended a modern orthodox Yeshiva, a Jewish parochial school.  I remember well the Rabbis I had in that place.  The bus picked us up for school at 7 in the morning.  We started school at 8 a.m. and studied Hebrew subjects until noon when we ate lunch and went up on the roof for some recess.  In the afternoon, we had English subjects, until 5 p.m. I loved the mornings and tolerated the afternoons.

In the first grade my Rabbi was a man named Steinberg.  He was a gentle but strict teacher.  He was an older man with white hair who cared deeply about his students and who loved the Hebrew language.  He taught us the aleph bet, or ABC’s.  More importantly he taught us to recognize the power of the Hebrew letters.  He told us the letters themselves were holy and to write them with pride.  We had these blue flimsy lined notebooks in which we practiced and practiced and practiced the script of each letter.  He told us the letters had the power to hide us when we were scared and the power to give us courage when we were frightened.  Years later, Rabbi Steinberg would teach me what I needed to know for my Bar-Mitzvah.

Second grade brought a very serious and demanding teacher, Rabbi Frost.  Rabbi Frost was a younger red faced man who walked around the room carrying a ruler.  Anyone misbehaving or not paying attention was told to hold out his hand which then received a swift hard swat from an angry teacher. Rabbi Frost never joked or smiled, as I remember.  He was engaged in serious business.  We studied the Book of Genesis and Rabbi Frost told us to pay attention to the white spaces between the letters because that is where the truth was hidden.  I do not remember ever feeling his wrathful ruler, but I do remember his deep concern for the scripture and the holiness of the letters.

Rabbi Lipshutz was my third-grade instructor and I loved him.  He was a kind, caring man with a good sense of humor.  He was tall with a full black beard.  I sat right next to his desk as the class explored the book of Exodus.  He taught us to love the questions the scripture raised and to never let the answers destroy the questions.  He trained us to ask good questions and to feel free to dispute even the most honored sages.  He was convinced the scripture intentionally left gaps for Jewish boys to explore akin to investigating a cave.  To me it was like a great adventure!

Rabbi Eisenblaat’s fourth grade class was memorable.  The Rabbi was a short portly black bearded man who taught us to chant the text in Yiddish and Hebrew.  As with Rabbi Lipshutz, questions were vital, and he forcefully compelled us to find the questions in the stories.  One day we were studying a text in Genesis.  He asked me what the great commentator, Rashi said about a problem in the story.  I told him but then he pursued me and asked, “Was Rashi right?”  I was in fourth grade and he forced me to consider the question if Rashi was right.  Because of his persistence, I finally had to admit Rashi could be wrong.  Whereupon Rabbi Eisenblaat smiled.

These Rabbis taught me the beauty of being Jewish and the wonderful questions within the Bible.  It gives me great pleasure to remember them today and to give them honor for the power of their teaching.